Un Rêve Parfait
by lefcadio
Summary: Eugénie x Haydée. A quiet moment on Janina.


**Notes:** Written for etrangere - because this is totally your fault. ;)

-------------------------------------------------------

This is a dream.

Eugénie can feel the breeze upon her face, but does not look up. The air is so warm, and the pale, thin curtains billow gently around them; balconies surround the small room, and if Eugénie cared to look, she could see the vast city below, all the way to the horizon. The sky is perfectly clear; here, she thinks vaguely, it seems almost like a perpetual summer. Ribbons of bells which hang in the windows chime softly, and her legs are crossed beneath her on the cool teracotta tiles.

It cannot be quite real, she tells herself; that she is here in Janina. But Albert had always known of her burning desire to travel, and had told her of it with enthusiasm when he found out his work would send him here. Of course, she had come. Janina was renowned for its natural beauty and exotic, lively cities. But Eugénie always could not help but think, in the back of her mind, that Janina's greatest treasure was... something else...

She does not sit alone; someone lies curled up before her, head resting sleepily on Eugénie's lap. Long strands of silken hair cascade over the sides of Eugénie's skirt, and pool on the floor. Their fingers are loosely entwined, and Eugénie can't help but wonder at how pale and soft the skin is. Splashes of coloured light dance around the walls; strings of multi-faceted glass beads sway from the ceiling, looped on hooks and the lights above.

It was almost exactly six years ago that Eugénie first saw her; she can remember it clearly. Of course, most people had been paying attention to her companion, but Eugénie had eyes for only one person.

"Haydée..." She speaks the name softly, almost questioningly. The princess' eyes are closed, and all that emerges from her is a quiet murmur. Eugénie smiles, and cannot resist reaching out to stroke Haydée's dark hair again. The commotion and chatter from the busy market in the streets below drifts up through the window on the breeze, ever so faintly. Haydée's eyelashes flutter a little, and her lips curve into a small smile as the hand beneath Eugénie's tightens its grip almost imperceptibly.

The air smells slightly of spices that Eugénie is not familiar with; as she leans down to brush away a strand of hair which falls over Haydée's face, she is struck by the scent of sweet flowers, and shuts her eyes as the other's delicate perfume surrounds her. A quiet, peaceful moment passes, and she opens her eyes with a surprised intake of breath when she feels Haydée's fingertips brushing her lips. She watches as the princess props herself up, looking almost waif-like in the large embroidered robes which drape her small frame. Haydée reaches up and places her arms around Eugénie's neck, pulling her close until their noses are almost touching.

Behind them, the sun is beginning to hang low in the sky, and the horizon starts to smoulder with the orange signals of the sunset. The bells are chiming again, and Eugénie wishes that she were oblivious to the fact that Albert will be returning soon.

And then for the next few moments, she _is_ oblivious: small, soft lips are pressed against hers, and there are hands buried in her hair. She rests her fingertips lightly on the tempting curves of Haydée's waist, and, for a short while, everything is perfect.

A deep, purposeful cough sounds from beyond the doorway, and Haydée draws back, her dark eyes sad. Both of them know without any further instruction what this means: Bertuccio is letting them know that Albert is back. Eugénie reaches out impulsively as Haydée sits up beside her, and draws the princess' hand to her lips for a final, fleeting kiss. All those years ago at the opera, Eugénie had been captivated; what she does not realise is that as she sits, Haydée studies her, and the feeling is more than mutual.

And they smile as the sun sets in a blaze, content with the knowledge that they have found each other.

It is a dream, yes; but it is also the reality.


End file.
